


Slice

by magicalcookie664



Series: Angsty fics [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crying, Cutting, Hugging, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Self Harm, Whump, dark stuff dark stuff, poor five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcookie664/pseuds/magicalcookie664
Summary: Five used to cut. Like, a lot. He hasn't since before the apocalypse. He cuts again. Vanya sees the blood and tries to help. The world has been saved, but he still yet the to save himself.TW: SELF HARM





	Slice

**Author's Note:**

> Don't come @ me for this thank you. I have a terrible perception of what is considered gory and some people have found this side of my writing gory in the past (it's not at all to me but whatever) WARNING: SELF HARM MAY TRIGGER DONT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT

Five used to cut. Like, a lot. It wasn't to get attention. The acceptance of their father was a sick pleasure to bear. Five never sought that. It was the unfathomable situation to seek out, so he never really tried. Five's almost thankful that his father has finally kicked the bucket. 

The apocalypse has been prevented, April 1st survived past, and the world saved. It doesn't feel that way though. Having the fate of the entire world resting on his shoulders has been stressful, but having nothing there seems even more so. What is he going to do with himself? He can't just sit around and do nothing, or the gaps in his mind will catch up with him. There was something soothing about the sight of blood that he can't begin to explain. 

In the apocalypse he could see it everywhere, staining the ruins around him with a crimson paint. Before it had utterly grossed him out. Then he'd become a hit man. He'd become far more accustomed to the sight of red on his hands, the scent of death in the air, the last cries of his victims. 

As time passes he begins to doubt even himself. No, he didn't have to have killed people. He could've waited it out, working out the equations with Dolores. Alone. But he was selfish, he has always been, he realises. He didn't have to do what he did. He just couldn't stand being alone. 

It's 6pm. Just any old evening. Downstairs, a few of his siblings are preparing dinner. Yet here Five is, sitting in his room alone, weighing up the worthiness of his life. He's been through so much, done such terrible things, and yet it's he who is given the chance at a second life. He feels as if he's wasting it, turning away everything he could've been and throwing it away. It's only been two months, yet it feels like years. His perception of time is still a little messed up after the apocalypse. 

He pushes himself off of the bed and into a standing position. He wonders if the knife he stole from Diego all those years ago is still where he left it. 

He opens all of the drawers beside his bed in turn, his hands shaking. "Where is it? It has to be here. It has to.." he mutters, discarding contents from the drawers all over the floor. 

His breath catches in his throat. His fingers curl around the holding part of one of Diego's older knives. He takes it out of the drawer, shuddering at the way the light reflects off of the blade. It's still sharp, then. He guesses some things never change. 

He glances towards the door quickly, but it's still closed. All of his siblings' voices are coming from downstairs anyways. He turns back to the blade in his shaking hand. He slides back down to the bed, trying to calm his breathing down. He can't do this. He can't. It was years ago he last did it... Was it really all that long ago? 

He can't do it. But he wants it. A small part of him wonders if he really is insane, if all those years with only half a mannequin for company really did break him. It honestly wouldn't surprise him one bit. 

He slides his sleeves up, staring at the multitude of scars covering his skin. His gaze wavers on the deep one tracing across the line of his wrist. He'd been 9 and stupid. He'd forgotten the layout of the human autonomy. He'd accidentally cut into his main artery and not even realised until it wouldn't stop bleeding. His father had found him unconscious in his room and thought he'd tried to kill himself. It was a long time before he was allowed to be alone again. Then the apocalypse happened. Now this. 

The knife feels heavy and familiar in his grip. He almost smiles. Why do bad things feel so good? He carefully touches the tip of the knife to his skin. It feels cool and nice. God, he feels so selfish. He's always being selfish isn't he? He'd scared mom so much with that "suicide attempt" that wasn't a suicide attempt at all. But she's not here anymore. No one to patch him up if he slips out of line. Such a shame. 

He turns his eyes back to his wrist. He's done messing around. He draws the blade across his skin, watching the crimson blood well up through the slit he's created. It slicks down his arm, hot and wet and sinful. He breathes out and does it again, this time moving a little to the left. He can't have any overlapping, can he? 

He does it again and again, slicing the shiny sharp blade through his skin and watching as blood collects into a pool on the carpet beneath him. 

He lets out a shuddering breath, allowing the knife to slip from between his fingers and into his lap. His arm is stained red, blood dripping from every angle he can see. 

He feels a little dizzy. "Shit.." he whispers, moving to grab the bandages from his drawer. He carefully unravels the fabric and wraps it around his arm, not bothering to wash any of the blood off. The sink is just to many doors away for him to risk it. He hides the knife within the bandages under a folded pair of his shorts and closes the drawer again. 

The carpet is stained with crimson. God, he's so stupid. How is he going to clean that up? He jumps into the bathroom quickly and soaks a towel with warm water before disappearing back into his room. 

He lays the wet towel over the bloody carpet and flops back onto his bed, too tired to care about anything. He doesn't want to face up to the consequences of what he's done. He closes his eyes, bites back tears, and falls asleep. 

*  
He wakes up an hour later to the sound of Klaus shouting "dinner" in a sing song voice through the hall outside. 

His arm stings horribly. God, he'd forgotten the pain of it. He carefully peels back his sleeve, hissing in pain. The bandage is mostly soaked through, dried blood crusted on his skin. It occurs to him that he's still bleeding. He thought he'd been careful, but in all honestly, he barely knows what he's doing anymore. 

He tugs his sleeve back over his arm, debating whether to go downstairs for dinner or not. His siblings are bound to be suspicious if he just doesn't turn up. So he leaves his room, trying to act normal, well, as normal as he could considering the circumstances. 

When he enters the dining room he takes a seat next to Vanya. He doesn't make eye contact with anyone. 

Vanya gives him a smile that he doesn't return. He doesn't smile. If he were to now it would be strange. 

Dinner begins, portraying their family in the usual way. Luther and Diego arguing about some other issue, perhaps to do with the moon. It's all Luther ever talks about these days. Allison attempting to make conversation with Ben's ghost, since Klaus is sober and has made him corporeal. 

Half way through the meal, Five feels something wet slide past his wrist and twist through his fingers. Shit. He's still bleeding. He glances at his hand, going utterly still. Blood is dripping from the bottom of his sleeve, slicking across his palm. He hurriedly clenches his fist and shoves it under the table, praying no one noticed. 

"Is that blood?" Vanya hisses, staring at him with wide eyes. Oh, deja vu again. She's said that before. 

Five's head snaps up,"No," he answers brusquely. 

"Five.." Vanya replies, staring at him hard, her eyes fixed on his as if she knows everything. As if she knows every secret he's ever had to hide. She can't know. She can't-

"It's nothing!" He snarls, pushing his chair back from the table. 

Everyone stops talking and stares at him, confused. "Five? What's wrong?" Allison questions. Her eyes feel as if they're boring into his soul. 

"Nothing." He bites out,"Im going," he moves to turn away but Vanya seals her grip around his wrist. 

"No you're not," she replies, her voice calm but firm,"Don't even think about jumping away, Five," 

He's thinking about it. God, why can't they just leave him alone? He knows that deep down he doesn't want that. Being alone is the last thing he'd ever beg for. But in this moment, with all of their eyes turned on him, Vanya's hands enclosed around his wrist, he wants it. 

"Let go, Vanya," he mumbles, his voice almost a whisper. He tugs at his arm, trying to pull free from her grip. 

"Five, you're bleeding," Vanya whispers, her voice ever so gentle. She gestures with her free hand to the blood pooling in the teens' palm. 

"Yes," Five snaps,"I know that,"

"Who hurt you?" Vanya questions, her voice concerned,"Did Cha Cha somehow survive?"

He finds he can't look at her. How can he, when he's a liar, when he's selfish, when he's a murderer?

"Just let go," Five whispers, his voice quiet, desperate, pleading. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want their sympathy. He doesn't want their love. 

Vanya slides back his sleeve, revealing the bloody mess of cuts and scars all over his arm. She just stares at him, mute with shock. She never thought that Five, Five, the bravest one out of them all, the one who'd mock the others for crying and stand up to their father, would do something like this. "Five..." she manages, finally able to tear her gaze away from the crimson mess that is her brother's arm. 

Five opens his mouth, prepared to lie, blame it on the commission, anything. His mind goes blank. He just stares back at Vanya, his mouth slightly open, and says nothing at all. 

"Why? You could've died?" Allison asks him, staring at him with the same expression she would use if her daughter was in the same position. 

Suddenly, Five feels so small. His eyes burn with unshed tears and he turns away, pulling his harm out of Vanya's now limp grip. He doesn't know how to explain it to them. He's a murderer. He deserves this and so much more. He does not deserve their love. 

"Jesus.." Diego mutters, from somewhere behind him,"I vote Luther goes and gets the medi kit," 

Five expects Luther to protest, like he usually does when Diego tries to be the leader, but no one speaks. He hears Luther's heavy footfalls as he leaves the room, probably to go fetch the medical kit.

"Five..?" Vanya murmurs, reaching out to touch her hand to his shoulder. 

Five tips away from her touch as if he's been burnt. "Stay away from me!" He snarls, spinning around to face his siblings. He can't stop shaking. Why can't he stop shaking? And they're all just looking at him, dumbfounded, shocked, so fucking blown to bits by his sudden and accidental reveal of emotion. He wants to curl up and die. 

"Five, please-" Vanya begs, reaching her hand out to him once more. Her eyes are filled with tears. 

He slaps her hand away, tears freely streaming down his cheeks,"I'm a fucking murderer!" He yells, his voice shaking with barely held back sobs,"I don't want to hurt you! I don't deserve any of this," 

"Five, I know you killed people in the apocalypse, but that's the future, a future that doesn't exist anymore. The apocalypse never happened," Vanya tells him, stepping towards him slowly. 

Five eyes her suspiciously, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He's still shaking, still crying, still bleeding, still dying, somewhere deep inside. But it's okay. 

"I love you Five. We all do," Vanya continues,"You don't have anything to prove to us. You don't have to pretend you're not hurting. I can see you are... and I want to help you," 

"You do?" Five whispers, surprising himself at how vulnerable he sounds. God, he just wanted to eat his dinner in peace. 

Vanya nods,"You've always been there for me. Now it's my chance to do the same for you," She smiles at him, a delicate, gentle smile that can't help but cause more tears to spring into his eyes. 

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Vanya opens her arms to hug him just as he falls forward, a sob escaping his lips. She wraps her arms around him, cradling his head towards her chest as he sobs. 

"I'm sorry..."Five whimpers,"I'm sorry.." 

"Don't be," she replies, before placing a kiss on the top of his head,"Just promise me not to hurt yourself again."

He nods into her clothes, and says in a voice wrecked from crying,"I promise,"


End file.
